


Bondlock: Sherlock's Nephew

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Bondlock: Mycroft's Son [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Family Secrets, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sherlock has a heart, sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1244089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a nephew. Which, yes, is very weird. However, Sherlock's more concerned about his brother, despite what he tells others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bondlock: Sherlock's Nephew

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimers:** Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steve Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. James Bond belongs to Ian Fleming. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

'Mycroft has a _son_?!' John spluttered.

Sherlock nodded with a manic grin. Really, he was _far_ too happy about this news. It'd be fine if Sherlock was happy about the fact that he had a nephew, but, well... John was pretty sure that Sherlock just found the idea of Mycroft procreating highly amusing.

'Seriously?' John asked.

'Oh, yes,' Sherlock nodded again. 'I haven't met him, I was busy in R&D.' And he'd been kicked out, too. He was still pouting over that. 'I saw him in Q-Branch. There's a faint family resemblance, but Quillan looks more like me than he does Mycroft.'

John just nodded. Sherlock looked a lot like his parents- which was weird, from John's experience a child usually resembled one parent more than the other, but Sherlock was like the perfect hybrid of both.

'Wait,' John frowned, 'what's Q-Branch?'

'Technical services of MI6,' Sherlock said.

John blinked. 'Wait,' he repeated, and Sherlock tutted, clearly just wanting to... _gossip_. 'How old is Mycroft's son?'

'Twenty-one,' Sherlock said, and John spluttered again. 'I know!' Sherlock actually laughed.

'I thought... well, uh...' John trailed off, unsure just _what_ he'd thought. Okay, he'd been picturing a kid, really; maybe thirteen or fourteen. 'I didn't think Mycroft was that old,' John admitted.

'He isn't,' Sherlock waved a hand. 'Twenty-two years ago, he got it on with one of the girls who lived near us, they were both fifteen. I don't remember her, but I was only eight at the time.' He was more interested in playing pirates around that time, though he did remember Mycroft beginning to take an interest in the local teenagers. Specifically the boys, which was why he still found it odd that Mycroft's first time had been with a _girl_. Maybe Mycroft had still been trying to appear “normal”.

'Wow, twenty-one?' John whistled. 'Well, at least he doesn't have to teach the kid anything, right? I can't picture Mycroft taking his son to rugby games or helping with homework.'

'Quillan's rather intelligent, from what I gathered,' Sherlock said. 'He'd have to be; he's the Quartermaster.'

'I have no idea what that is,' John said. That, of course, earned him a forty-five minute lecture about MI6 and Q-Branch, dating back to the early 1920s. He also got another lecture about Mycroft's past and current position in the British Government. John was still having a hard time believing that Mycroft had ever been an _agent_. Though Greg _had_ said that he was a lot fitter under those suits than he appeared. 'Does Greg know?' he asked suddenly, interrupting Sherlock's speech about the R&D levels of Q-Branch.

'What?'

'Does Greg know?' John repeated. 'That Mycroft has a son?' the doctor added when Sherlock just stared at him.

'Oh... no,' Sherlock shook his head and flopped back onto the sofa. 'Mycroft only found out a few days ago and told me yesterday. I'm not sure if Mycroft's actually going to tell him.'

John frowned. 'But he has to; they're dating.'

'Mycroft may never see the boy again,' Sherlock explained. 'He's left it up to Quillan. If my nephew never calls, well... Mycroft will leave him be.'

'Seriously? He'd just... never see his own son again?'

'Mycroft's weird,' Sherlock shrugged dismissively. 'Of course he'll keep an eye on Quillan, but he won't take an active role in his life if that isn't what Quillan wants.'

John hummed. 'Okay...' That made sense. Mycroft only ever visited Sherlock when he wanted help on a case, or when Sherlock had gotten himself into trouble. He was always there when Sherlock ended up in hospital, a frown on his face and worry clear in his eyes, despite how much he tried to hide it. So, yes, John could see Mycroft respecting his son's wishes, but he doubted that Mycroft would just... leave him be. 'Wow,' he murmured after a few minutes of silence, 'Mycroft has a son.'

'I know,' Sherlock giggled- honestly, he _giggled_. John was a bit worried for his partner's mental health. Then again, he'd learned long ago not to dwell on it.

'How do you feel about that?' John questioned, and Sherlock shrugged.

'It doesn't really affect me in any way,' the genius said, 'unless, of course, Quillan decides to be a part of Mycroft's life. Then I'll most likely see him on a semi-regular basis. More if Mummy and Father get involved.'

'Oh, Christ; they don't know either, do they?' John demanded.

Sherlock's eyes light up. Really, he was enjoying this far, _far_ too much. 'I demanded to be there when Mycroft tells them,' he announced gleefully.

'Sherlock, calm down,' John said. 'You sound demented.'

'This is just too good, John!' Sherlock exclaimed, throwing his hands up. 'Mycroft- _my brother_ \- got a girl pregnant! He just found out that he has an illegitimate child!'

'Illegitimate, really?' John snorted. 'This isn't Victorian England, you know.'

'Oh, I know,' Sherlock smiled, 'but it's _Mycroft_. He's all about propriety.'

'Mm,' John hummed. 'How is Mycroft handling everything?' he asked. He was concerned, he could admit that. Mycroft was... well, not a _friend_ , but someone he was sort-of close to. And he was a doctor, he tended to worry just a bit about the people in his life.

'I honestly have no idea,' Sherlock admitted, nose wrinkled. John had to bite back a chuckle; Sherlock _hated_ not knowing things. 'He seemed a bit distraught when he told me, and he was very quiet after he met Quillan. But he never shows me how he really feels about anything, so I honestly can't say.'

'But he was rattled?' John questioned, standing and stretching his legs. His tea had gone cold, and he needed a fresh mug if they were going to continue discussing Mycroft's... love child.

'Very much so,' Sherlock said, not moving from the sofa. 'But he went straight back to work after dropping me off here, so I didn't get a chance to study him properly.'

John snorted; only Sherlock would _study_ his sibling. 'Well, if he needs help, we're here.' Sherlock laughed. ' _I'm here_ , anyway,' he corrected.

'Mycroft would never ask for your help,' Sherlock told him, like John _didn't_ know that.

'He'll get it whether he wants it or not,' John muttered. Honestly, the Holmeses were insane. And oh God, there was _another one_. 'I wonder if Sally will ever find out,' John mused as he flicked the kettle on. _That_ was a conversation he wanted to bear witness to.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


It wasn't as though Sherlock had _stolen_ the day pass. He'd merely... forgotten to turn it in. And really, Security should have demanded it back when he and Mycroft left. Only, the guards had been very cautious around Mycroft, as though he'd snap and stab them with his umbrella. Sherlock snorted to himself as he walked through the brightly lit hallways of MI6. His brother really wasn't _that_ scary.

Sherlock filed all of those thoughts away as he finally reached Q-Branch. Beneath the official plaque was a laminated sigh that read “Land of the Minions”, and it made Sherlock chuckle. It seemed that _weird_ followed the Holmeses wherever they went.

Sherlock pushed the door open and stepped into a large, open room. There were desks lined up neatly either side, some with dividers between them, others grouped together. Q-Branch employees- or minions, he supposed- were bustling about working on this and that. Sherlock's fingers itched to rush forward and examine everything, but his visit actually had a purpose, so he ignored it all and marched towards Quillan's office.

It was set at the very end of the room and to the left; a spacious area that had been cut off from the room by floor-to-celing windows that were currently opaque. The wall directly to Sherlock's left was concrete and had a large steel door set into it with no handle; there was just a keypad to the right, the display currently red, with an area for a card to be swiped.

Frowning, Sherlock stopped before the door. He doubted that he'd be able to hack the thing- picking mechanical locks was more his forte (thanks to Mycroft)- and he wondered what minion he could bribe to let him in.

'Q's busy.'

Sherlock turned at the voice and came face-to-face with a woman. Early thirties, had two daughters- no, one daughter, one androgynous child- three cats, and grew her own vegetables. She was running on very little sleep and too much caffeine, though Sherlock had gathered that all of the “minions” were addicted to some type of caffeine the day before.

'I need to see him,' Sherlock stated.

The woman raised an eyebrow. Sherlock let his eyes dart down to the ID that was clipped to the bottom of her shirt; “R – Q-Branch”. Ah, Q's second, then.

'Well _you_ will just have to wait,' R informed him. 'He's in a meeting.'

Sherlock tilted his head and glanced around. Some minions were looking at him, others were giggling and writing things down, all while darting their eyes at Q's frosted windows.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked back at R. 'He can shag his lover later. This is a family matter; I'm sure he'd like to see me.'

R's eyes widened immediately, but she quickly schooled her features; Sherlock was rather impressed.

'They should be done,' she finally said. 'Hang on a minute.' She took a slim mobile phone from her pocket- it was silver, with a large Q printed on the back- and started tapping at it. After about three or four minutes the mobile pinged. 'You can go in,' she said just as the keypad turned green and the door opened.

He was a double-oh; Sherlock had met only one when he was a bit younger- maybe eight, nine years ago- but they all carried that same air about them, Mycroft had said. This one was rather old, at least forty, dangerous, mentally and physically unhealthy ( _slight dependence on alcohol, uses suits, charm and sex to stop people getting emotionally close_ ), and carrying three types of weapons.

All in all, _not_ someone that Sherlock wanted sleeping with his nephew...

… and, okay, Sherlock hadn't expected that. He tilted his head as the man reached him and R. Hmm, it seemed that he _did_ care for Mycroft's offspring. Odd, but Sherlock would examine that feeling later.

'007,' R said, and Sherlock smiled a little; a double-oh, he was rarely wrong.

'R,' 007 replied. The blonde then turned his eyes on Sherlock. 'And you are?'

'I hardly think that matters,' Sherlock shrugged, 'as soon as security finds out that I'm in the building, I'll be asked to leave. And I won't be invited back for a while, no matter who my brother is.' Movement from behind 007 caught Sherlock's eye, and he looked up to see a thoroughly dishevelled Quillan standing in the doorway. 'Or my nephew,' he added and darted around 007, entering the office before the older man could comment.

'Sherlock Holmes,' Q said. 'Of course, come in,' he added rather bitingly as he shut the door.

Sherlock smirked and surveyed the office- they'd had sex on the desk, against the well, on the sofa... disgusting.

'How can I help you?' Q asked, moving around Sherlock to sit behind his desk.

'You know who I am, so you know why I'm here,' Sherlock said, not caring to play back and forth with the boy. He turned his eyes on Q, getting a better look now that he was up close. 'It's rather fascinating how you look _nothing_ like my brother, yet I can see the resemblance.' Q just raised an eyebrow. 'Like that,' Sherlock said, 'you have the whole “I'm not amused” look down to an art form. And here I'd thought Mycroft had had to practice that.'

'I wouldn't know,' Q said, 'seeing as how I know nothing about the man.'

'You look more like me,' Sherlock said, ignoring Q's comment. 'Dark hair, pale skin, no freckles... genetics is fascinating.'

'What are you doing here?' Q asked. 'Besides looking at me, of course.'

Sherlock hesitated, teeth barely chewing the inside of his lip. He knew how to word it, he knew what needed to be said, but... well, he'd never been _good_ with emotions. He and Mycroft shared that trait.

'I just...' Sherlock huffed and looked away, hands going into his coat pockets. 'Look, you've probably heard a lot of stories about my brother,' Sherlock said, for once being serious, his blue eyes on Q.

'I have,' the young man inclined his head.

'Most of them are true,' Sherlock said, 'some aren't. Even I don't know exactly what powers my brother wields, or what he did for MI6 when he was your age. I do, however, know that my brother has a heart. Despite what he says and how he acts, despite what he _likes_ to believe, he does care. And everybody he truly cares about is related to him. Which now includes you.'

Q just stared at him, unmoving.

'Mycroft has left the decision up to you, and he will honour your choice. If you never want to see him again, you won't. However, that doesn't mean that Mycroft won't be watching.'

'Stalking, you mean?' Q questioned, one eyebrow going up.

Sherlock stared. Okay, he saw the resemblance to Mycroft, now. He and Quillan didn't really share any physical traits, but actions and personality? Oh, yes.

'Definitely,' Sherlock finally said. 'My brother has a weird way of showing his affection, but it _is_ there. He will always be watching, and he will always make sure that you're as safe as can possibly be. I just want you to remember that if you decide to never see him again.'

'So he's okay with me not wanting to know him, but he'll keep an eye on me?' Q asked.

'Exactly,' Sherlock nodded. 'He'll care because you're family. You're a Holmes now, despite what your birth certificate says. It doesn't matter that he didn't raise you. You _are_ his son, and that's all he cares about. So... just keep that in mind when you make your decision. I'm not trying to pressure you, but I don't want you to think that Mycroft doesn't care about you.'

'Why do _you_ care?' was Q's next question. 'You clearly don't care if you get to know me or not. But you want me to know that your brother cares enough to keep watch over me?'

'I care about Mycroft,' Sherlock said without hesitation. Sometimes it was better just to be honest, after all. Sometimes his hatred of admitting that he _did_ love his brother had to be put aside. 'He may not show it, but finding out that he has a son has rattled him. He'll be blaming himself for not realising that you were alive. You spent a few years as a foster child, yes?'

Q nodded.

'Mycroft will blame himself for that,' Sherlock continued. 'He has money, he has power; he could have given you a good home and kept you away from MI6.'

'He didn't know,' Q said.

'And yet he'll blame himself,' Sherlock shrugged one shoulder. 'Mycroft tends to do that. He still blames himself for my drug addiction, despite the fact that he was absolutely not to blame. It's what he does.'

Silence followed Sherlock's words. Q stared at Sherlock- or at his shirt, seeing as how he was lost in thought- and Sherlock glanced around the room. There were gadgets here and there, a pen that looked a bit too thick to be a _real_ pen, as well as computers and tablets and more of those Q-Phones... Sherlock wondered if Q would notice him taking one.

'I'm not sure what to do with that information,' Q finally spoke, drawing Sherlock's attention. 'I'm still not sure what to do about the... father situation, as a whole.'

'I can understand that,' Sherlock said, 'and I'm not telling you what to do one way or the other. I just wanted you to know that my brother _does_ have a heart.'

Q nodded. 'I'll keep that in mind.'

Suddenly there was a banging on the door, and Sherlock smirked. He pulled the visitor pass from his pocket and held it up, making Q raise an eyebrow- yes, he was definitely Mycroft's child. Urgh, there were two of them.

'I don't suppose I'll be seeing you for a while,' Sherlock said, 'at least not here. And that's if you don't decide to forget that we Holmeses even exist.'

The door banged open, and R walked in accompanied by five security guards. Really, Sherlock warranted _five_? Marvellous.

'Until next time, Q,' Sherlock said, unknowingly echoing his brother as he stepped back. He handed the pass over to R, who took it with a slight frown. Sherlock then allowed himself to be manhandled into Q-Branch and out of the building, smiling all the way. It was only after he'd been tossed outside that his mobile chimed.

  
  


_What are you doing? – M_

  
  


Sherlock smirked and started walking, texting with one hand as he did.

  
  


**Nothing, don't worry. I didn't bully Quillan into speaking to you – S**

  
  


_I don't want you affecting his decision, Sherlock – M_

  
  


**I just gave him something to think about, stop worrying – S**

  
  


_All I ever do is worry, as you well know – M_

  
  


**Everything's fine. Stop texting me – S**

  
  


_I love you too, dear brother – M_

  
  


Sherlock chuckled and slipped his phone away, knowing that Mycroft wouldn't contact him again. At least, not until he found a case or just wanted to bother the younger Holmes.

Honestly, Sherlock still wasn't sure what had possessed him to sneak into MI6 and talk to Quillan. He supposed it had something to do with those feelings he'd had just before speaking with the younger man- boy, really; he was only twenty-one.

Sherlock sighed and stepped onto the curb, hailing a taxi as he did. It seemed that he shared _that_ trait with his brother; pretending not to care, and failing miserably.

Sherlock rolled his head, trying to work out the tension headache he could feel building, and stared out the window. There was nothing he could do now; he'd said his piece. It was up to Quillan. Sherlock didn't know if the young man would want anything to do with Mycroft- and by extension, Sherlock- and while he _hated_ not knowing, Sherlock _definitely_ knew that there was nothing he could do about it.

Hopefully it would all work out. Either way, Sherlock had a nephew. Something in his heart wouldn't let him forget that.

  
  


{End}

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Note:** Ah, yes, I wrote more; would you look at that! Johnny- he's my muse, if you didn't know- just really, REALLY likes writing multi-chapter stories or a lot of drabbles or... you know, extending something past a one-shot. I don't think he understands what a one-shot is.
> 
> Anyway, there will probably be more drabble-like stories in the future. No idea when, but I like Q being Mycroft's son, it's fun.
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> {IBegToDreamAndDiffer}


End file.
